


The Best of the Best

by celestialcollectionaus19



Category: Daredevil (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 2016 Summer Olympics, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Olympics, Athletes, Gen, Multi, Olympics, One Shot, POV Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 05:48:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7832716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialcollectionaus19/pseuds/celestialcollectionaus19
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>MCU Olympic AU. After winning a gold medal in Rio, Jessica Jones sits down for a plate of fries and some much-deserved rest. People-watching ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best of the Best

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to be as realistic as possible for some characters' medal count and the logistics of the Olympics, but artistic license does apply. Otherwise, enjoy!

"Should you really be eating that?" 

 

Jessica rolled her eyes and grabbed another fistful of fries. "Fuck that," she said, as Malcolm looked on with a raised eyebrow. "I just won a gold medal. I can afford it." She moved the plate of fries in his direction. "Eat some, Mr. Gold Medal. We fucking deserve it."  

 

He waved away the fries and grinned at her. "I'll pass on that, save up for some chocolate cake." 

 

"Suit yourself," she said with a shrug. "I should go get another plate. Or, nah, maybe a grilled chicken sandwich. I need that protein after today." Her arms and shoulders were killing her. Jesus, even her legs. She looked over his shoulder, away from the gaggle of Russian sixteen-year-old gymnasts and towards the long line leading up to the cafeteria, where food service workers were patiently handing out trays and asking for ID's. "Okay, never mind. Later." She and Malcolm both ate about eight meals a day — typical Olympic weightlifters. They'd be back in the cafeteria before long. 

 

Malcolm leaned back. "You doing anything tonight?" 

 

"Interview at nine. NBC, I think?" Jessica frowned. "Uh, or ESPN. One of them." She stared at him. "Why?" 

 

"I was thinking of going to that little place across the street." He grinned. "They got good, healthy food. And good TVs. Better than watching Trish in our rooms, right?" He was desperate to avoid his roommate, Jessica knew, some weird badminton player called Ruben who played mixed doubles with his twin sister. You could switch — it was the Olympics, after all — but Malcolm was too nice for that. Poor guy. 

 

Once upon a time they would have gone to the bar, gotten wasted to celebrate, but not this time. Not in Rio. Jessica had been sober since 2014, since Jeri forced her into rehab and refused to continue coaching her until she stopped drinking; Malcolm, longer than that. And both of them were doing phenomenally better in sobriety — in total they'd won one gold, three silvers and two bronzes at various championships since going dry. For 2016, she was hoping to win at least another medal after Rio. A medal to prove once and for all that sober Jessica was the best Jessica. Maybe. 

 

"Yeah, sure," she told Malcolm. "I'll book the place later. Five?" 

 

"Six-thirty?" He smiled sheepishly at her. "I kind of met-" 

 

She groaned. "Another Olympic fling?" 

 

"Hey, this is the Olympics." He took one fry and pointed it at the athletes eating nearby. "Look around us, Jess. Everyone's finding somebody." 

 

Both of them turned towards the rest of the cafeteria. Beach volleyball partners Scott Lang and Luis Sanchez were striking up a conversation with a female fencer; personally, Jessica thought that the eager players stood no chance. The stunning Greek judoka — silver in Beijing, gold in London, gold in Rio, and many more in various international competitions  — chatted with two American swimmers, Frank Castle and Something Page. Jessica wouldn't have remembered the guy's first name, either, if he weren't the flag bearer at the Opening Ceremony. His handsome military cut and roguish grin had made him extremely popular around the world; a video of him leading the procession of American athletes had even trended for a few days on Youtube. Jessica would have hooked up with him if it weren't so obvious that there was something going on between Castle and Page. Oh well. She looked further, spied creepy triathlon star Will Simpson helping an uncomfortable-seeming blonde gymnast. After the shit that he tried to pull with Trish, Jessica had wanted to go and rough him up so badly. She'd controlled herself for her and Trish's sake. This was probably their last, or second-last, Olympics. Neither of them needed the hassle. Poor girl, though, Jessica thought as she watched Simpson's hand rest for a little too long on the tiny girl's back. 

 

As she contemplated Simpson, an image of she and Malcolm's first coach suddenly appeared in her mind. Tall, gangly, British; evil incarnate in a purple polo. Zeb Kilgrave had been put away long ago (six years ago); he was rotting in prison until the end of his days; she was safe. _Birch Street, Higgins Drive, Cobalt Lane_. She was safe. They were safe. She was at her third Olympics, in Rio de Janeiro, in the Olympic Village. Safe. She stuffed another fry into her mouth, her throat a little tighter than before. "Still a week and a few days left," she told Malcolm. "And not the end of the world if I don't find some hot guy." Not the end of the world if she did, either. Or if she already had. Hypothetically. 

 

Two blonde women in Team USA hoodies stopped at their table — Trish radiant, her wavy hair still drying from the pool; Hope happy but exhausted, a soaked towel around her neck. Straight from training, or maybe the Jacuzzi. Jessica and Malcolm had gone on the previous day and found Jeri soaking in the hot tub with a young synchronised swimmer. Even though her wife Wendy had flown all the way from New York to support her and her athletes. The two weightlifters decided to instead go to the beach on that day. 

 

"Jess!" Trish called, and rushed forward to hug her. "Another fucking gold medal! I can't believe it!" She saw Malcolm and grinned harder. "You too! Come here!" 

 

Jessica wrestled out of her grip, a small smile on her face despite her willingness to look grumpy about the hug. Malcolm pointed at his friend and said, "Trish, guess who's going to be interviewed tonight?" 

 

"Oh my God! Congrats, Jess!" Trish sat down; Hope, a little hesitantly, followed suit. "Foggy Nelson, right? Such a nice guy. Me and Hope were interviewed by him at the World Championships. I love him. Best of the best." She grabbed some fries and leaned in. "You guys, we just met Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes!" 

 

Malcolm and Jessica exchanged perplexed glances. 

 

"The divers?" ventured Malcolm. Jessica was still trying to think of their faces. Rogers — the dark-haired one with a beard and a fortune? No, that was Tony Stark. And who the hell was Barnes? 

 

Trish rolled her eyes. "You guys really need to watch more diving. _Yes_ , the divers. Got gold medals at every Olympic Games since Athens? Set several world records?" Malcolm looked like he was starting to realize who she was gushing on about. Jessica vaguely remembered a blond diver with great pecs. He'd taken a selfie with her and Trish at the Opening Ceremony as they walked out with the rest of Team USA. Yeah, probably the right guy. Wait, were they the divers that everyone thought was a couple? 

 

"Oh, yeah," she said, at the same time that Malcolm exclaimed, "Jess, that's as if we met Luke Cage!" 

 

"Weightlifting legend," he added, for Trish and Hope's benefit. "Retired last year; now he's a coach. I'm surprised we haven't met him yet." 

 

Hope smiled. "Probably soon," she said. "If he's that famous in your sport, I'm sure he'll show up and congratulate you guys sometime." 

 

Jessica flashed back to last night — the late-night snack in the cafeteria, the shared stories about shitty coaches and gross injuries, the walk to his room. Talking about nothing until midnight. Fucking on his bed while a loud party took place next door. All that had happened before her gold medal. He'd definitely show up to at least say congrats. That was a certainty, not some deluded fantasy on Jessica's part. Obviously. 

 

"Why are you smiling?" said Trish with a raised eyebrow. 

 

"She's hiding something," Malcolm said. 

 

She shrugged. "These fries are just really good." 

 

Trish and Malcolm looked at her knowingly. Hope laughed. The four of them scooted over to let the Ryan Reynolds lookalike Canadian wrestler sit down with his girlfriend. Jessica changed the subject. She wasn't sure where this — thing — would go. And it was nice having something to herself. "So, Trish," she said. "When are you and Hope diving tonight?" 

 

After all, Jessica wasn't just a gold medallist in weightlifting. 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to check out my Tumblr, celestialcollectionaus, for AU photosets/gifsets.


End file.
